


I've Never Wanted Something So Bad

by ASilverTongued_Devil



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Brooding, D&D know nothing, Dark Jon Snow, Depression, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, Jon Snow is Azor Ahai, Jon Snow is Not Called Aegon, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Jon-centric, Multi, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Depression, Slow Burn, Smut, The Jon Snow we needed, The Long Night, The Old Gods (ASoIaF), The Starks are cunning, The smut that was promised, We're going balls deep into it, bittersweet ending but still better than seasons 6-8, expansive and detailed battles, fAegon - Freeform, mostly angst, some slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:07:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22137547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ASilverTongued_Devil/pseuds/ASilverTongued_Devil
Summary: How do you know something is right? Because people say it is? Yet they know nothing of the heart, let alone Jon Snow's heart. With the Long Night approaching quickly, it's time put all his time and effort into what is right, even when the heart yearns for something so wrong.He wants to hate her but cannot, she is the only family member he has right now and he must protect her in the memory of his father Eddard Stark, must make sure she lives to see daybreak. He must push her away before the feelings become his downfall.She was tired of hurting and needed to project it onto someone else, her bastard half brother seemed the easiest choice, the one who took the throne and crown of Winter. She intentionally argues with him, gets under his skin and drives him up the wall; yet has she known of anyone so gentle with her? What happens when the walls around her fall and leaves her exposed? The meeting with the Dragon queen? Well, that just stokes the raging, white, hot, anger and jealousy churning within her.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Daario Naharis/Daenerys Targaryen, Jon Snow & Arya Stark, Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 6
Kudos: 51





	1. You wish to speak to me of loyalty?

> _"Sometimes there is no happy choice, Sam, only one less grievous than the others."_

The thought appears unprovoked in Jon's head, sitting in the Great Hall of Winterfell, while listening to the bickering and accusations of the ' _great'_ lords from the entirety of the North. From as far North to the Last Hearth, to as far South as Greywater Watch; every single banner and sigil from the vassals under his care are seated in this hall. Seated in the Great Keep, yet most of squabble amongst themselves as children, as if they had their favorite wooden toy snatched from their hands. The pressure that builds behind his eyes is too much, the muscles in his temple is ticking. Quite frankly, Jon has heard enough of this unruly assembly. 

" ** _ENOUGH!_ **I have listened to your complaints and insults, you _WILL_ hold your gods-damned tongues at bay and hear the words I speak!" Jon hisses, slamming his palms down with excessive force. A thundering _**BANG**_ reverberating along the stone walls, causing multiple heads to snap in the direction of the sudden outburst.

Tension rapidly built into a tangible energy, so thick, it could be felt simmering in between the rows of nobles gathered. Mutterings could be heard but the command had the effect Jon had needed. Standing, he grasped the back of his chair between a white-knuckled grasp. Without warning, pitching it into the wall behind him, causing his former seat to splinter. He knew his eyes and face were more likely wild and feral, body language reminding everyone gathered of someone poised for the kill. 

Keeping the Lord Commanders glare, he unabashedly stared at the gathered lords and ladies that have tested his patience. It has been well into hours of this gathering, he knows without having to look at the candle that has melted by three marks; many hours wasted for naught.

"I have already petitioned the Essosi Queen Daenerys Targaryen, ruler of Mereen to discuss alliance plans and preserve our homes, the NORTH, _OUR LANDS,_ from slaughter; from eternal servitude from what threatens our very existence! She has the two armies of bloodthirsty Dothraki screamers who are the fiercest riders in Essos, the deadly and trained prowess of the Unsullied. And three fuckin' dragons, able to rain fire over entire the endless hordes of wights! -- and yet, your petty squabbling is hindering our chances to survive by the second." Jon Snow exclaims. "House Stark shall remember who refused our call, who refused their liege lords. We have forgiven those houses, but we will not stand for abandoning us in our hour of need and publicly criticizing House Stark's decisions. You will come to us in private to discuss your misgivings."

A crown of copper hair and Azure blue eyes, snapped to his and flashed in warning as much as anger, saying, _quit acting the part of lively jump-start bastard and hold your tongue!_ His eyes saw the shift and knew his own were likely the same state as freshly chipped granite, hard, dark and unyielding.

A heartbeat, _one, two_ and not a lord seemed to wish to dispute his statement, until newly appointed Lord Cley Cerwyn, as bold-as-brass, arises with all of his new-found vanity and exclaims "You have been raised among Stark's, my lord, yet you are not a Stark; not only are you not a Stark but like many bastards before you have forsaken your oaths, yours being to the Night's Watch. Who are we to answer to you when the true heir to Winterfell sits to your right; also, was it not reported that your younger brother Brandon was last seen alive at the wall? The one you tucked-tail and ran from?" The young lords face formed an unsightly sneer.

Silence descended over the hall as quiet as the crypts below Winterfell.

In a tone of voice that was as cold as the wall he spent his green years at, just as cold too.

"Cley Cerwyn, was it not even a half years time since you, knelt before me and swore your swords and service? If you talk about my oaths, what's that to say of yours? I have spoken my vows and fulfilled them, I will give you this one chance to rescind your insults to me and sit in that chair and quit spewing shite you know nothing of." Jons northern brogue had lowered to that of a growl, not unlike the direwolves that sprint across his gorget, covering his throat. " We will petition with the queen and hope to gain her favor, to help us fight back the dead and defeat the Night King." Chest rising and falling in time with the turmoil of emotions burning in his chest.

Robett Glover begins to stand tall, poised with venom on the tip of his tongue, "So that's what this is, _you_ hear of the beauty of the foreign bitch and plan to hand over _our_ kingdom on a silver platter and act the pleasure slave?" Deep growl tearing it's way through Jon's hoarse voice, teeth gritted in a very audible _crunch. "_ Lord Glover, you wish to add to this nonsense? I have yet to entertain any marriage proposals for her, as well as her party. You talk of giving away the kingdom as if you helped fight for it, is that what I assume? You fall short and wish to place your faults and failures on my shoulders; you are indeed a class act craven, my lord.

If the geriatric lord could turn any more red in the face, it happened in that moment.

"You plan to act the way of her whore, yet I am not the least surprised.. The whores blood that ran healthy in your mothers veins, seems to run through you, I can smell your traitorous lust from here; adds to your bastards stench that permeates the air around you." Glover managed to rasp.

Holding the eyes of Cerwyn and the old lord Glover, he stalked ever-so-slowly towards them, an enraged predator stalking his prey, ready to jump his kill. Even slower, he unlaced and shed his leather jerkin, letting it fall to the cold stones beneath his feet. Practically tearing through his doublet and standing before the lords some feet apart.

"I've known cravens and traitors, I've known ignorant men and men playing ignorant of their own deceit; tell me my _lords_ , tell me this instant, which are you?" Asks the King of the North, the former lord commander, bastard black brother, bastard of Winterfell; _no,_ asks Jon snow as he removes his shirt. Revealing the seven angry, red, puckered scars that butchered his abdomen and torso.

"ANSWER ME!!" roars the King of the North, when neither dare to answer He throws a swift left hook into the jaw of Glover, dropping the _mailed fist_ of Deepwood Motte. As Cerwyn throws a preemptive strike, jon parries the blow with his left hand, In return throwing his right elbow skywards. A satisfying _**crunch**_ and warm crimson shower of lifesblood indicates, he broke this pricks nose.

He hears a faint _Jon, seven save me_. It came as a near whimper from far off to his right, yet the wolfsblood running through his veins dimmed even the loudest of exclamations. "You have come to Lady Sansa and my home, actively called me a liar and have proven your vows to be worth the shite of the stables in the outer yard." Stark guards roughly dragging both men onto their feet. Menacingly stepping in the shocked faces of Cley and Robett.

Jon commands in a voice so low, you'd have to lean in to hear," Take them outside, we will settle this as was the way of Theon Stark. Both of you, me, bare fists til the death. May our old Gods protect us and strike those who hinder the survival of the entire North. Take them outside and strip them of their weapons and mail." He shrugs back on his undershirt and turns away, throwing a glacial look over his shoulder at the rebellious duo, "You will die today, my lords, I will make sure of it.". Many lords faces blanche while the Free Folk gathered, some fifty-and-five, shout their encouragements and pound their tables so hard they start spilling flagons of dark, bitter ale.

 _Offer us the bloodsport of these cowards, follow our way, offer to us the blood of your kills and we shall grant thee a boon, offer the trees their entrails._ The words in his skull bounce around his head, as if one voice splintered off into multiple; firmly rooted in his head now. Maybe he came back slightly different and more violent but he was still Jon Snow, was he not?

Yet as he looked on the twin sets of azure, boring into his own eyes, he felt the sharp rage of betrayal from her...and--and yet, the hot surge of want and need fighting inside him. _Seven fuckin' hells, she is my sister!! My own blood!_ Until the same voices from naught a minute ago speak; _half-sister, there has been worse arrangements._

As Jon Snow stalked out of the Great Hall of Winterfell, he thought to himself.. _I have not come back slightly different, I have come back completely wrong!_


	2. You've learned from your tormentors, in the way you torment me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately I'm absolute trash with summaries, so you'll just have to keep reading to see where this goes but I promise to try and make my story the best it can be.

With his blood running hotter than the smithy in Winterfell, Jon returns to his lord's chambers. He roughly pushes open the door and heaves his discarded garments into a nearby chair, yet tenderly setting Longclaw against his bed; thoughts wondering to what Jeor Mormont would think of him right now. _Doesn't matter, the old bear has been dead for years,_ Jon thought factually.

Heaving a great sigh, he sat his tired ass in a chair and filled a rams horn with his favorite dark and bitter. Practically draining his first serving in record time, he pours a second horn and lets the ale nurse his headache. He goes through his second serving just as quick as the first, _I shouldn't be aiming towards_ a _warm, fuzzy-feeling bliss.. Fuck it, I am beyond irritated_ and pours and third cup.

The fire in his chest was finally settling, so Jon closed his eyes. He had just felt the fight leave him when the door to his outer solar slams open, then shut. The same notion carried with the door leading into his chambers, when _she_ walked in. All of her fiery glory and displeased look.

 _Gods, she's a vision_ , came to his mind without warning. It was accurate, his eyes slowly took in her face to admire the soft curve of her jaw, the elegant slope of her nose, the soft round apples of her cheeks. Then slowly roaming toward the expanse of her chest, curves of her breast; daring to dip as low as her thin waist and wide hips. 

"Have you gone completely mad? You showed your ass in front of our gathered bannerman. I cannot believe that you're ignorant enough to not only, strike two of our vassal lords but also sentenced their deaths!" She shrilled, eyes narrowed and lips curled in distaste. "You're a complete fool if you think that preening yourself in front of our audience, like some gamecock, making complete arse of yourself will help matters! How are we to know what you plan to do with our homes, our lands, our independence Jon! All talked with some foreign queen who may be as mad as her father." At this point her cheeks were near matching the red in her hair. "Tyrion has vouched for her and has giving nothing but praise, i'm no gods damned fool, Sansa!" Jon felt the tips of his ears burn and felt his anger hit him in full force.

"And aye, I've _completely_ made an arse of myself" he sarcastically repeated, his face pulling into a sneer of his own. Yet he continues on. "I ordered the deaths of two cunts" "They are our lords, Jo-" "Two CUNTS" Sansa blushes at such a crude comment "that cannot hear our words from how high they sit on their egos, I can almost taste their arrogance." he exasperates. Sansa's eyes flash with something so dangerous that it excites him as much as infuriates him.

" _OUR_ words!? You never listen to what I have to say! You never take my advice on anything Jon, we could have ended this whole escapade but your childish attitude has escalated this further than it ever should have been." "How should we deal with open rebellion, Sansa, hmm? At the wall I let treason fester around me like a plague which ended in my death, no, I shall cut the snakes head off before it thinks of striking." Sansa looks thoroughly ashamed and sad for him at the mention of his death, but then the fire in her is breathed to life once again.

At this point, she has took three long strides and now stands face-to-face with her half-brother, slipping a neutral face on that suggests indifference. He shouldn't care to admit that her indifference stings a little. "There will have to be another way Jon, we must try to settle with the lords and give them the illusion of power when they hold none. We must appease them and play them fools." Her stoney countenance giving away nothing.

"No, that is my final answer Sansa, I will not dance to the tune of simpering fools and show us weak. That is the final comment on this matter." As Jon turned around to walk away, his ears picked up the sounds of her next words, turning the fire that burned in his chest into a raging inferno.

"My mother was right, about it all, give the bastard a taste of power and he'll want it all, never to be satisfied, never to to listen to his betters. You may have never had a mother when you were younger but you're well passed acting the part of a spoiled unloved brat! Petition the dragon whore and turn us into pawns then" Malice laced every word.

She knew the moment she said those words, they had broke the fragile semblance of peace between them. Maybe their time at Castle Black hadn't closed the gap between them. Her eyes widened, became glassy as her mouth dropped open; seemingly attempting to apologize. Jon could feel his own face crumple, teeth clenched so hard his jaw may never open again, felt two stray tears dampen his beard. Then his face became as cold and unyielding as the wall, his own hackles raised, the high pitched ringing in his ears and only intensified the red rimming his vision. Such a sudden shift in mood.

"Save your apology, _my lady ,_ you have made it clear on your feelings. I'm sorry I'm not that family you love unconditionally."

"Please Jon, I didn't mea-"

You didn't mean it Sansa? You've been nothing but cold, cruel and indifferent to me. Didn't understand what it felt like to be murdered by your own men in treason, so I must deal with the treason. Nor, have you seen the army of the dead or the Night King who controls his soldiers by his will alone. Lastly, you don't know the shame of being the single stain on Eddard Stark's honor, having only one parent who could give the slightest of his time. Never knowing if your mother is dead or alive. Living with the cruelty YOUR mother graced me with daily, the one you were so quick to quote. You've really learned from Cersei and Baelish." His hands were shaking at this point, he needed to leave soon and hit anything in the training yard.

"Just listen to me, please!" cried his half-sister desperately.

"Go. Leave me. Now." Jon spoke deathly quiet, as quiet as the grave.

"Jon, you're being-"

"LEAVE. NOW" He bellowed in her face as he walked into her personal space.

Giving a jerky nod and a quiet sob, Sansa gathered her skirts and fled his room without even shutting the door. He opens the solar door to find two of his house guards on either side. "I am not to be disturbed for the rest of the night, is that understood?" "Yes, your grace." came the reply from both guards. While shutting the door, he crossed to the horn and ale, filling it generously then draining it all.

As he dresses down for the night, only slightly drunk and unsteady, he thinks back to red hair, flushed faces and wet eyes. She was so fierce and glorious and notices the tenting his bed furs, his cock rising, _i'm absolutely sick_ Jon thinks. Yet he spits in hand and furiously strokes his aching cock to completion, spilling on his chest and belly, even hits his neck.

 _I'm sick, a bastard through and through._ Falling asleep with his mess still on his body, he thinks of the fight to the death taking place tomorrow and dreams of twin sets of azure eyes, full of life and fire and..and maybe the slightest hint of regret..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, hope you enjoyed, please leave a comment, a kudo, bookmark it, anything or nothing. At the least engage with me in the comments, tell me what you liked, what you didn't, throw me out ideas. I have a pretty straight- forward view for how the story goes but you could help me make this even more entertaining.


	3. It seems we've come to an impasse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As I said before, I am bad with summaries, regardless, I hope everyone enjoys!

**Later that night**

Why _can Jon not see that he's going to drive away the bannermen?_ He says that it's for our survival from this 'army of the dead' but we only know of such tales from our childhood, listening to the stories from sweet Old Nan; they scared her as a child but after the monsters she's had to endure, she doesn't know if she can find it in herself to be afraid. _I have more fear for an opportunistic 'queen' who may one day turn her gaze North._ If she has managed to survive Cersei, Littlefinger and.. The Bolton bastard..

A chill descends her spine and knows it is not the cold of the winter storms, Sansa pulls her grey furs even tighter around her lithe frame. Moving to sit in the fire, her mind starts to race about uncertainties that lay in wait for her in the coming moons. _I must gather allies but who in the North would back the claim of Lady Sansa Lannister- Bolton?_ When the answer to her concerns softly rapped against her door and entered without answer.

The overwhelming smell of mint had hit her before his presence was made known..She wants to be sick, she knows to keep up appearances and puts on her dove facade once more. _Let him her the words of a dove, for when I have what belongs to me, Baelish, shall know the teeth of a wold.. A direwolf.._

Meeting the cunning and calculating green- grey eyes of Baelish, she speaks in an aloof tone meant to placate. "Petyr, I had not expected you for at least another sen-night." Seeing his grin expand, she knew this meeting could go her way. Calling him Petyr to have him let down his defenses slightly will be more than enough to work him in the palm of her hand, men are indeed, so simple. "Regardless, I am happy to see you here, a shock but no less pleasant for it, I hope your travels faired well and is in good health?"

"My sweet, sweet girl, I must thank you for your courtesies; yes, my trek through this frozen wasteland was.. insightful to say the least." Sansa can feel her eyes narrow a minuscule amount against her own wishes. "Insightful Petyr? How ever am I supposed to take that? You could share your insights with me, my lord." Baelish chuckles, taking slow measure paces until he stands across the table, taking his seat.

Littlefinger seriously informs her, "I have heard many tales, my sweet girl. Heard twice as many whispers in the dark, whispers about you being usurped of what's rightfully yours. Your bastard half-brother, is he not?" She plays the part well. "My lord, you are forgetting that the crown rightfully belongs to my younger brother, Brandon. As it is, it would seem I have claim to nothing but my bedchambers, lord." Giving him a slightly over-exaggerated sigh to help sell it. "Nobody would follow a girl, let alone a Lannister turned Bolton, I am powerless as of right now, and must continue to do so." Sansa quickly averts her eyes, lest Littlefinger sees the carefully woven suggestions in front of her.

"Twas not your half- brother who won the battle of the bastards, he would have been slaughtered. That is, until the rightful heir to Winterfell, Lady Sansa Stark herself rode to the outer lines with the knights of the Vale at her back. The lords of the Eyrie have yet to forget that, nor have some of the Northern lords who find your half- brothers postion.. _complicating."_ Trademark sly smirk returning full- force on his face.

As she takes her time to mull it over, she finally replies with, "Even if it were so, Bran would be the next to wear the crown, trueborn son of Ned Stark, he was last heard of being alive in the far North."

"Sweet Sansa, nobody will follow the word of a cripple, a boy lost to the North. May believed him dead, what support would he gather? _Hmm?_ Winterfell has already been won and should be safe in your hands; your soft, delicate, capable hands." As much to be expected, he takes her hands and loudly kisses her knuckles; she can feel the leftover wetness on her hand. 

Sansa fights the urge to gag.

Slowly sliding her hands from his grasp she relays, "And how am I to do that? You know these proud lords of the North would rather see a natural born son ruling. I am just a tepid mare to ride and mount, until their seed takes root and puts a child in my womb. That is the life resigned to a woman these days." She stands and walks in front of the hearth.

"A woman you are indeed." She turns to find his eyes slowly raking over her body, she knew then Petyr would do anything for her. "A woman who is more capable of ruling, spending time in King's Landing, learning lessons from me. You KNOW how to play the game, sweet Sansa, and it shall be you who wears the crown if you say the words." He stands before her and bestows an unwanted kiss to her lips. "I must go now, plans are set and ready to be set in motion, we will see you crowned. I promise you, Sansa." Yet the way he says her name ' _Sansaaah'_ near moaning it into her ear.

Not only must she resist the urge to gag again, she fights back the impulse to recoil.

"We will speak soon." With that, he makes to leave her chamber.

As the door opens, she hears a " _your grace_ " from the door and turns to see Jon watching her, setting her nerve endings ablaze. He's just staring and then turns to Littlefinger and replies stoically "Lord Baelish, I hope you are enjoying your stay." His face giving away nothing.

Of course, your grace, the lady Sansa was just sparing me but a moment of her time. If you will excuse me, I have my lords of the Vale waiting for me, I hope to speak again soon, your grace." Petyr offers a sardonic bow and leaves without waiting to be dismissed.

Looking back in her direction, he slowly plants his way under the frame, so she cannot close the door.

"What was that about then? Spending time with the man who practically sold you?" voice taking on a darker note.

"Lord Baelish was offering his apologies, groveling at my feet asking to forgive him for his short-comings. He says he didn't know about--about Ramsey Snow." She cannot help but twiddle her thumb and forefinger when his piercing gaze bores into hers.

"And you trust that snake? You find those kinds of men trustworthy?" Voice growing louder with every word spoken. But Sansa refuses to be cowed by him.

Squaring her shoulders, putting on her most guarded look, she announces that it's "None of your business who I put my faith and trust in, Petyr was the only one to come for me, to make sure I'm safe; unlike some people." She ends in a haughty tone.

"Oh aye? It's just Petyr now? I'm so glad to know of how close you both have gotten." There's the bite in his tone again and it puts her on edge, defensive walls coming up.

"I have gotten to know him while the rest of my family had wrote me off and left me to my own devices, while some were warming the beds of the wildlings." Lips curling back into a silent snarl, oddly enough, Jon tracked the movements of her lips while also wetting his.

She wouldn't dare admit she watched his movements just as intensely. 

"You don't know what happened in the true North, I can explain, Sansa jus-" "That is quite alright _your grace_ , you need't explain yourself to me, if you will forgive me I am tired and wish to retire to my chambers." Feigning a yawn.

His jaw clenches and the muscles tick, "If that is what you wish, goodnight my lady." And leaves just as quick as he came.

Dressing herself down for bed, she thinks on the firm set of his shoulders, powerful arms, muscular legs that should be kneeling before her; full lips that should be kissing her feet, running his tongu-.

Shaking her head, she attempts to still her beating heart, diminish the warm feeling she feels in every inch of her body. Suddenly the warmth has reached her thighs and seems to be pooling. Fretting over whether it was her moonsblood, her folded rag came back clear and wet and ever so slightly musky. She lays as still as possible under her sheets

_Old gods, new gods, someone save me from this absurdity!! There must be something wrong, he's my brother!!_

"Half-brother" she says suddenly, to no one. Groaning, she folds her pillow over her face and screams into the feathery softness. "What's wrong with me?" Sansa wonders aloud and with a final effort, turns over and attempts to fall into a deep sleep that doesn't come that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you thought! Next chapter, a brawl in the eyes of the gods.


	4. The God's have spoken.

> " **The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword**. If you would take **a man's** life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words. And if you cannot bear to do that, then perhaps **the man** does not deserve to die.”

**The brawl, Winterfell's training yard**

Thinking back on father's words were the only solace he could grasp,he did not wish to take yet more lives but at this point it seemed the inevitable. Those words have stuck with him throughout the years and helped forge him into the man that stands here today. _Would father be proud of me?_ He refused to ponder on that thought, for the things he's done and felt would probably make his dear lord father retch.

"Bring the accused, it is time to do it, as was the old way" Voice calm, soothing with his gentle Northern brogue, yet belying the turmoil in his head.

Watching the proud mailed fist of House Glover and arrogant axe of House Cerwyn cautiously step into the ring almost caused the winter king to smirk, _there have been men, armed with mail wielding axes that have still fallen to the direwolf, I have seen to that many times before._ Glaring at them both, seeing them shivering, with nerves or from the cold, he could tell you not. He cannot remember the last time he physically felt cold, his mind ,on the other hand, was as burning cold as the true north.

"Which of you two shall stand before me first? Decide now for my patience has already worn thin." grumbles the King of the North.

"I will, lord Snow." Completely foregoing any titles to show the proper respect, lord Cerwyn has stepped right into his face. "Shall we test the mettle of your fists or your words, _my lord?_ I am ready to be proclaimed innocent in the eyes of the God's and return to my keep, I must settle down for the winter."

"Assuming you return home for the winter, lord Cley. If you do, I shall make it so that it is in a casket with the proper escort for someone of your station."

Shocked faces were the background, Jon saw, Lady Alys, Lord Ned Umber, Ser Davos, Hornwood men, Manderly men, House Dustin men, even Tormund had managed a boisterous guffaw.

Tormund then belittles lord Cerwyn with his raunchy japes " King crown fights with the heart of **TEN** free folk warriors," bellowed the red giant, "he may be a small fooker but his courage is greater than that of the tallest giants, as fierce and hard as the wall of ice he lived in for years. Better fight for your life, little lord, else king crow shall dash your brains out with his fists." With a mischievous smile and a waggling of his copper brows, he adds two slivers of advice. "Don't let the ladies hear your scream, pretty lord and try not to shit your pants when your life leaves your body."

Drawing nervous laughter forth, the tension settles.. only slightly.

Turning to the young man, face as ashen as the bark of the weirwood, he says "And so it begins, I suggest protecting your face my lord." Jon strikes without any preamble. Taking his advice to heart, Jon's opponent had indeed covered his face, leaving his torso open to a bruising right hook to the ribs, drawing a grunt from Cerwyn. 

The young lord staggers back a few feet and recovers, lowering his elbows to cover his unprotected chest, tentatively taking two steps attempting to circle the King and trying to find a weakness. This goes on a time as the red first-sized mark has already started to turn wicked shades of indigo and violet, causing discomfort when Cerwyn breathes.

"Is something the matter my lord? We have only just started, come, strike me if you can." Snow offers a small, mocking smirk, yet the Cley has yet to step forward, all the while his face turning the shade of a garden grown tomato. "I have only landed on strike against you my lord, why will you not face me? I had not thought you so craven."

It has the attempt Jon was looking for, his foe charges and poised to strike. Raising his fists in a defensive stance, he easily counters Cley's uninspired right hook, arching Cerwyns fist above him as Jon steps inside, bringing the lords arm down and throwing him over his hip into the dirt.

Small chuckles are heard from the training yard, to the smithy across the yard, to the ramparts above, Lord Cley Cerwyn is being chastised while also being thoroughly embarrassed. Unfortunately, Jon Snow makes the mistake of taking his eyes off his opponent.

 _FUCK!_ Jon's eyes are stinging and his vision is impaired. The chuckling stops dead in it's tracks.

He noted the thick, wet substance as mud, _this coward must fight dirty to even stand a chance._ Three consecutive blows land on his jaw, splits his lip and catches him in his left eye; making stars dance under his closed eyelids and causing a warm, sticky trickle of crimson blood to blind the left side of his vision. 

' _You know what's wrong with honor?"_ How Karl Tanner's question flashes in his mindseye, Jon decides to take a page from his book.

As he feels hands closing around his throat, Jon gathers a deep mouthful of salty blood from the cut in his lip and spits it directly in the lords face. The momentary reprieve allows him to break out of the choke hold, striking his hands down on the inside of Cerwyn's elbows, the force causing him to lean himself forward into a headbutt from the King of the North, hearing the shattering of perfect, white teeth. As the condemned lord drops to his knee, Jon Snow delivers a swift but precise kick to the chin of Cley, laying him out on his back and straddling his his hips; delivering blow after _crunching_ blow.

The battle rage, his father called it, when fire and hatred burrow so deep in your marrow that you hardly notice anything else. He hardly notices the weak attempts to escape or the even weaker punches the young lord threw in retaliation. Jon does notice Cley's head bouncing off the hard compact ground with each blow, head rocking to and fro, whipped left and right, eyes rolling back in his head as he loses consciousness. A rather gnarly blow snaps the lords eyes wide open, drawing a rattling, frantic breath. A decisive left hook knocks Cerwyn back into darkness.

As the blows rain down in a constant blur against the swollen face of the young lord's. He briefly glances at the broken nose, chipped teeth, nor the two swollen eyes. Yet, the wild king cannot help himself but rain blow after blow, dashing Cerwyns brains against his skull.

Grabbing Cleys neck, Jon smashes it in the compact, hard dirt of the training yard, over and over again. He almost didn't register the sudden, sickening _crack_ , reminding Jon of a cracked egg shell; replace the eggshell with the dashed brains of the late Cerwyn, with his brain matter staining the ground and what not. 

Tormund had tried to reign Jon back into his senses and receives a bloody nose for his trouble, only enraging the massive wildling friend.

" **CUT IT OUT YOU DAFT CUNT!!"** and like magic, the veil that hazed over his eyes was lifted. Jon looking up at a glaring Giantsbane. As the King stands and gathers his feet beneath him, he looks out at the stunned crowd around him, shamed and turning away from a dumbfounded pairs of twinkling sapphires, avoiding her fiery waves that naturally curl at the ends.

Looking back to Turmund, the glare morphed into a sly smirk "I tried to warn him but the pretty southern twat didn't follow my advice." Arching his copper brow at the battle-lust filled king.

"What do you mean?" He croaks in a brittle voice.

"I told him but he still shit his breeches in the end." It was definitely the wrong place and the timing was even worse, yet it drew an audible chuckle from Jon. Probably scaring the whits out of the crowd surrounding him.

As the laughter subsides, Jon Snow draws himself up to his full height and turns his stormy irises to the withered ones of a slack- jawed Robett Glover.

"It is time my lord, are you truly a coward? Resigned to act as meekly as the milk maids that plow the fields and attend the cattle? Are you as petty to whisper the rumors of gossip into someone elses ears as the fish-mongers wives do in White Harbor? Face me!" All in attendance turn to a pale lord Glover, as ashen as the weirwood that towers the godswood.

It was so quiet, it was possible to hear the sound of a pin drop, let alone the sound of Robett Glover audibly breaking wind.

"Y-Your grace! I beg of you, p-please, send me to the watch! I will take the black, I swear it! Please my king, mercy! I-i wish to live..I beg of you!" The old lord snivels and cries to the ground.

In a voiced cold enough to cut, Jon Snow informs him, "You will travel this very instant and learn what it means to be _the shield that guards the realms of man._ Ten of my men will escort you right now, dress warmly, lord Glover.

Geriatric lord being lead away in chains, Jon seems unable to meet the gaze of his sweet sister, he feels to ashamed and he knows that the heat he feels on the back of his neck are likely two pieces of chipped ice boring their gaze into his skin, trying to work their way under the sinewy muscle.

Stalking away no less bitter than when he arrived, he starts marching away with the tips of his ears burning. He faintly hears Tormund acting the fool.

The giant man takes a deep breath and pulls a face, "It seems like the old shit didn't take my advice either, should have worn brown pants." Letting out a boisterous guffaw, indicating to the direction of the visibly shaken Glover being led away.

Giving an over-exaggerated sigh, and feeling the throbbing of the blows he gave and suffered today, he attempts to stalk away so he can continue his routinely brooding session in the comfort of his room, until a visibly scared sansa, moves out of his way, tears in her eye and flees his opposite direction.

_Ugh, I need a fuckin' drink, or two... Ten sounds better, honestly._

> **Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy!

**Author's Note:**

> First fiction I have wrote, tell me your thoughts in the comments. If you hate it, just keep it to yourself.


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